


30 Days to Wed

by Pevrussell



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27013765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pevrussell/pseuds/Pevrussell
Summary: A/U: Bella Swan is one of Seattle's most successful relationship therapists...and Edward Cullen is going through a break-up. Thanks to a drunken evening together, Bella finds herself in a tricky situation. She's made an arrangement: marry Edward off in 30 days...or marry him herself. Now, Bella is stuck trying to "fix" the perfect man...before she accidentally keeps him for herself.
Relationships: Edward Cullen/Bella Swan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	30 Days to Wed

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! 
> 
> I have never posted on AAO3, so I am excited to start! I used to post on FF, so, I do not know this platform very well! Please give me any tricks that you might find useful! :)

**Day Zero**

**Or, How Bella Swan Establishes a Client Base**

I am three drinks in and about ten more to go before I hit “shit-faced”, which is really where I want to be. I, Bella Swan, have the unfortunate ability to hold my alcohol very well. 

I also have the unfortunate ability to chase off men, read other people’s relationships incredibly well, and drive a stick shift.

If you’re wondering why the stick shift bit was relevant, clearly you have never been the only friend able to drive one on a trip to Europe. 

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the bar. I look burnt out. My long, mousy brown hair is ratty and dishevelled, my brown eyes are too wide and already filled with moisture from the events of the day. My black pantsuit is perfectly tailored and fits like a glove, except that the white blouse now has a stain from the hot wings that Rosalie ordered and the top two buttons were completely open, exposing the top of my bright, purple lace bra. If it weren’t for my ridiculously smeared make-up (probably from the watery eyes after I spit my drink out in front of everyone), I might even look kind of attractive in a boudoir-sexed up way.

I throw back the whiskey. Maybe I won’t need ten. Maybe I’m already there.

“Can I buy you a drink?” I glanced at the rough-looking guy that sat down next to me. I study him for a second. He’s a larger guy, dressed like a wannabe biker, complete with trashy beard and tattoos. Honestly, I probably look like the easiest target in the bar...er...pub. It’s like a bar, but the other half of the place is a more family friendly restaurant, then there’s this half that’s a sports bar...anyway, I’m the easiest target.

I’m emboldened by the liquor, clearly, because, instead of choosing the more travelled path of being kind, coy, and demur, I say, “Piss off.” I feel my lips pull back in a snarl-like expression as the bartender hands me another drink. 

I guess this riles him up - I’m paying almost no attention - because the bartender speaks. “Let her be, mate. She’s not here to get lucky.” I do appreciate that the man is trying, but, I can handle my own. I’m  _ just _ tipsy enough that I’m looking for a fight.

As quickly as I’m about to open my big mouth, I feel an arm snake around my shoulders. “Darling, are you alright? Is he bothering you?” Wait...I know that voice. 

I look up into the most gorgeous green eyes set into the sharpest cheekbones I have ever seen. They make my heart skip a beat and they make my tongue automatically tied. I know those eyes. They’ve always done this to me. And I’m a little girl in high school all over again, unable to speak.The face that I am used to seeing twisted into a crooked smile is glaring at the man next to me as I am sure I exhibit the most shocked face this side of Seattle. The normally perfectly tamed copper hair is tousled and out of place today. It’s not a bad look for him, effortless, even, but, definitely not as familiar as he is perfectly put together. 

I finally pull myself together enough to say, “...y-yeah. I’m fine.” I resist the urge to shrug him off my shoulder. He finds the stool next to me and snakes his hand around my waist in feigned intimacy. To onlookers, it probably looks like we are a couple, but he isn’t even touching my side, just hovering his hand there.

The angry biker looking fellow sulks his way to another area of the bar with a grunt. For this, I am relieved, but I am regretful that I am no longer in close proximity with Edward Cullen as he pulls his hand away and turns his attention to the bartender to order a beer. I remember Edward vividly. I hadn’t seen him or spoken to him since I was a sophomore at the University of Washington and I had come home to spend a few days at the Cullen’s home...and that had literally been for his graduation party from med school.

That was...shit. How old am I? That had to be ten years ago.

And, while I had always had a school girl’s crush on him, I can honestly say that I was fairly certain he had aged much like a fine wine. 

Then, there was me.

We’ve covered how I looked.

I sigh, and finally look away from him into my drink. “Thanks for the assist,” I mutter, trying not to let him see that I’m blushing like a sixth grader who just got her first kiss. “But, shouldn’t you be joining the party in the next room?”

Edward smirks at me and shrugs. “Shouldn’t  _ you _ be joining the party in the next room?” His nonchalance and ability to turn the question around so easily is disconcerting.

I take a sip of my drink and swallow hard, still only looking at him using my peripherals. “Touche.” I swirl the drink and let the silence settle before I look at him again. “So, you couldn’t handle all of the overpressive happiness and joy or did you just miss my company that much?” I joke at him.

This entire thing was cute to the point of being overdone and putred. We were all here to “surprise” Edward’s sister, Alice, with her engagement. Her now fiance had set the entire thing up and we were supposed to have a wonderful dinner together. But, I wasn’t really in the mood for cuteness when I was wallowing alone in my depression about my singleness at the age of thirty for the majority of the day.

Add to it that Edward’s other sibling, Emmett, had been semi-forced into announcing that his wife was pregnant when someone made an offhand comment about her not taking a glass of champagne to toast to the engagement and I was literally feeling nauseated by the fact that I was unlovable and that I was going to be alone for the rest of my life.

Edward laughed. It was a bright and booming sound that made more tingles run down my spine. I’m officially drunk. “It hasn’t exactly been my day, either, Ms. Swan.”

I roll my eyes. “I will literally listen to you tell me all about it and act like it is the most fascinating thing in the world if you never call me that again,” I groan as I shoot the rest of my drink back. I motion for another. Edward hides a laugh.

“Isabella, then?” He fixes me with a stare that makes me completely alright with being called whatever he wants to call me for the rest of my life. I have to shake myself out of it. 

“Um...no. Just...Bella.”

He smirks. “Fine. Just ‘Bella’.” He puts down his drink and spins the bottle between his very beautiful hands. He doesn’t look at me for a moment, but I see that darkness that only a therapist will recognize. It’s enough to sober me up and throw me into the land of psychology once again. “My girlfriend left me today.”

Much like a tidal wave of frigid water being dumped over me, I’m sober. “I am so sorry…” I want to reach out and comfort him, but, I determine that full blown, professional therapist mode is the best way to solve this problem. “...Do you mind if I ask what happened? I’m a pretty good listener…”

Edward’s piercing green eyes level with mine. “So, I’ve heard. Baby Bella is a psychologist now.”

I bite my lip. “Actually, I am a relationship therapist specializing in couple’s counseling and sexual disorders...but, yes. My degree is in psychology.”

He nodded in understanding. “I completely understand. I’m a surgeon, specializing in trauma and orthopedics, but, yes. My degree is in medicine.”

I feel like my soul leaves my body. The perfect man doesn’t exist...until he is sitting next to me at a bar and is emotionally unavailable. I have many questions...starting with  _ Would you consider dating me after you heal from this clearly traumatic break-up?  _ And, also,  _ Do you have a subscription to  _ Psychology Today? 

I try to remind myself that I have had a few too many tonight and that this is not a good thing.

“That didn’t answer my question.” I try to salvage the pieces of myself that have disintegrated and hit the floor. “Maybe this is a sign that you need to work on your communication issues in a relationship.”

Edward levels me with a look that probably could have stopped traffic. “She found out I was going to propose to her, she found the twenty thousand dollar Harry Winston ring...and she dumped me.”

I think my eyebrows hit my hairline. “Oh...that’s…” I have seen some pretty unsalvageable relationships. But...if he thinks this woman is ever coming back, I’m fairly certain that it will not be happening. “I’m so sorry. I don’t think one beer is making that better, if I’m being honest.” I decide now is the best time to finish off my drink that I’ve been slowly nursing. “How long were you two together, exactly?”

He shakes his head. “Ten years.”

I spit my drink on the bar. “I am so sorry!” I panic as I grab for napkins and try to mop up the liquid that managed to flood the area. I didn’t even know I had that much drink left! Edward is a true gentleman and tries to help. “I’m also sorry for spitting my drink out, but, you’ve definitely had a rough day!” The bartender brings over a waste bin so that I can start to throw away the napkins...and he’s handy with a roll of paper towels. This dude needs a tip. He is the best bartender I have ever seen!

Edward helps me to clean up the mess before responding. “She said she wasn’t ready to make a commitment yet.”

I look at him, confused. “After ten years, it kind of seems like the commitment has been made...you just haven’t signed the paperwork…”

Edward rolls his eyes. “If it helps, it was on and off again.”

I pout. “Well...do you think she’ll come back?”

It’s his turn to raise his eyebrows. “She destroyed a ten thousand dollar grand piano...with her bare hands.”

I purse my lips. I’d be afraid what she could do to him with her bare hands, in that case. “I take that as a no…”

Edward sighs and looks over his shoulder toward the restaurant. “You know...maybe, I’m just better off alone, you know? There’s people like that, right? In your experience with couples, of course.” 

I bite my lip. I didn’t actually find that. Except in extremely rare cases, I normally found that there was a mate to every shoe on the planet. Except, in this case. After ten years, you are trained. You are ruined for other women. It would require a massive amount of conditioning and retraining the brain to figure out which parts of him were even  _ him _ and which parts of him were his girlfriend at that point. 

I wasn’t even the most qualified person to deal with a break-up. For the love of God, I had ended my last two relationships via text message, like a mature adult should. That’s right: text message. When I got divorced, I had even moved out the same day, despite it being his decision, because I’m just that good at compartmentalizing things!

Sweet Christ, why go I even have a job?

I reach out a hand and touch his hand on the bar. I look up, comfortingly through my lashes. “Look...If you need a friend tonight…” I hope that he can finish that sentence on his own. I don’t know where I’m going with that thought, but, maybe, I could help. Or listen. 

This is where the first of many mistakes was made that night. I let the depressed Greek god order shots.So, thirty minutes later, we were both completely trashed beyond our wildest imaginations. We spend a ridiculous amount of time insulting his ex-girlfriend with stereotypical insults that I’m sure should have gotten us kicked out of the bar. 

I’m honestly not sure how I’m getting home tonight because, at this point, the room is spinning...but, he’s still drinking. I’m giggling like a five year old. Everything he says is suddenly so funny!

I’m only glad I will probably never see him again.

“Edward, you’re perfect.” I say, practically leaning against him. “That bitch didn’t know what she was missing.”

Edward pats my head. “Oh? I’m perfect, you say?” I can tell he’s patronizing me. But, what the hell.

“You’re handsome...and smart...and handsome.” I sigh and find myself practically draped over the bar. “I bet I could get you married in thirty days. Catch free. We can find you the perfect woman. And, if not, then, I’ll marry you instead.”

Edward laughs. “Oh, Baby Bella.” 

I’m going to be one hundred percent honest with you: I do not remember a single thing that occurred after that. I had succumbed to the blacked out, fuzzy haze. What I do know is that I woke up in my own bed with a pounding headache, aspirin and water on my side table, and in only my blouse from the night before. I was also pretty sure I was going to vomit.

I rolled over to look at my phone (which I somehow miraculously plugged in). It was already late into the morning, so, I was glad that I didn’t have to work today. I have multiple missed calls and text messages from Alice and one strange message from a number I do not know.

**I doubt that you will be able to eat anything this morning after how you were feeling last night. How about we start my husband training tomorrow? I’ll check in on you later to make sure you’re alright. Don’t forget: you signed a contract. - Edward**

What did I do last night? 

* * *


End file.
